


Pine for him, Wine for him

by MariaMediaOverThere



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A little angst, Alcoholism, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, M/M, Pining, asking relationship advice from a minor, two grumpy people trying to be friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 10:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10988700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaMediaOverThere/pseuds/MariaMediaOverThere
Summary: Seungchuchu Week Day 3 Head and Heart: Pining(sliding in at the last minute, similar to my college submission etiquette)Seung-Gil is wants and wants and it makes him self-conscious and insecure.





	Pine for him, Wine for him

 

Seungchuchu Week Day 3 _ Head and Heart _

 

 

Pining

 

 

“Did that drink kill your parent or something?”

 

In thick Russian accent, Yuri Plisetsky jabbed. He eyed the desserts laid out on the table next to Seung-Gil with fervor.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Eyes resembling the color of Shrek green gave the Korean a wry glance. “Your drink. You’re staring at it and gripping so hard- look, it’s ready to crack.”

 

 

Self-consciously, Seung-Gil willed his tense hands to relax. “It’s nothing.”

 

“I didn’t ask.” The young gold-medalist huffed softly, and resumed taking inventory of the charity banquet’s sweets. Seung-Gil didn’t know whether to be thankful or pissed at letting the subject drop. It wasn’t like he was a poster child for good manners and right conduct either.

 

 

Through a mouthful of cream puffs, Plisetsky sighed an “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s up?”

 

“Nothing.” Seung-Gil winced in disgust at the child’s noisy chewing.

 

“Bullshit.” Plisetsky managed to fit brownie in his mouth. It was getting difficult to understand him through the baked goods. “The only reason no one else has approached you is because you look scary.”

 

“Pot calling the kettle black.” Seung-Gil murmured through the rim of his wineglass, kissing it and taking sips of red alcohol. He swallowed and waited a few beats. “Do I look that mad?”

 

“So mad.” Yuri licked at some confectioners’ sugar at his fingertips.

 

 

Seung-Gil inhaled. He counted to 10 backwards- to help him garner some inner-peace.

“I understand that… talking about your… feelings… alleviates some inner turmoil.”

 

“Uh, sure?”

 

“If I tell you what’s on my mind, will you promise not to tell anyone else?”

 

Plisetsky smirked- but not in a defiant way, but rather pitiful and bemused. He nodded once. “I’ll tell Otabek probably, though. But he’s a pretty trustworthy guy an-”

 

“It’s just so fucking funny- and I mean really funny to me, that Christophe Giacometti will throw himself around and catch the eyes of so many people while being in a relationship. And yes, I know that’s his prerogative- th-their prerogative, actually, how flirty Christophe Giacometti can be- him and his boyfriend… husband? I don’t care. He’s not single. But still! You think the man would have some decency! Mature eros and all that shit, I just-”

 

“Dude. Wait. Stop.”

 

 

Seung-Gil’s teeth clack shut noisily.

 

“What the fuck was that.” Genuine disbelief graced Plisetsky’s features.

 

“My feelings.”

 

“No, I mean-” The little Russian fairy rolled his eyes and put down the eclair he was ready to put in his mouth. Unsanitary. “Are you writing a dissertation or something? I didn’t know you’re a talker.”

 

 

Seung-Gil guiltily swirls the wine in his glass. “I’m not.”

 

“Are you drunk?”

 

“Tipsy.” He corrects. He knows what he’s like when he’s really shit-faced and Seung-Gil refuses to allow himself to behave like that in such a formal gathering. Unlike a Swiss-someone, he has self-preservation.

 

“That… that’s still drunk, right? I can’t drink. I’m 16.” The reminder was filled with so much contempt, yet Seung-Gil fondly misses the times before adult responsibilities and expectations and… hormones.

 

 

Seung-Gil shakes his head- more to clear his thoughts than anything. Maybe his brain is a magic 8 ball, and if he jostles his skull enough, he can arrive at a different thought.

“Am I sexy?”

That wasn’t what he was planning to ask.

 

“Again, I’m 16.”

 

“Just objectively.” Seung-Gil is not one to beg, but since he’s already asking…

 

“Is this why you up’d your sex appeal with that parrot shirt? Are you jealous of Chris?” Plisetsky squinted at him- as if trying to asses his initiatives and values with only his Shrek-green eyes.

 

 

Jealousy.

Green eyes.

 

 

Ah.

 

 

Seung-Gil turned his head to the manifestation of his disdain, out on the dance floor. His 6”1-or-something body swayed and circled in ways that are indecent for the event they’re in. A smaller, tanner body was pressed flush against his- grinding together.

Seung-Gil downed his entire glass- foregoing his earlier promises.

 

The previous Cup of China was paramount to Seung-Gil, no matter that he didn’t participate in it.

He was presented with the opportunity to survey the chops of his fellow Asians that he would soon compete with in the Asian Games- namely Ji GuangHong, Katsuki Yuuri, and Phichit Chulanont.

 

He gulps on air- wine absent from his grasp.

 

Ever since then, he noticed that Phichit had been including the Swiss blond in a stifling amount of selfies.

Because yes- he checks his Instagram. Don’t judge him. It started out as an observation-thing, but then it became a curiosity-thing, and now it’s just a crush-thing.

 

 

Seeing him stand on the podium, gold adorning his chest, made Seung-Gil beam to no one in particular. He didn’t mind liking the picture- his like would be lost in a sea of users.

 

In some way, he wished it wouldn’t- if only to hail attention to himself. They’re very rarely in the same place at the same time, and a possibility for interaction has not come around as of late. Whenever it did, however, certain variables were out of place.

Like... 

 

Um.

 

When his coach was introducing him to someone.

 

Or… When Phichit was enraptured in a conversation with Leo de la Iglesias. He didn’t want to intrude and risk being roped in a conversation with 2 people- 2 more people than he was already comfortable with or a usual basis.

 

Or… When Seung-Gil wasn’t sure if his breath was good.

 

 

 

So imagine his surprise when, after apparently sharing a group meal together before the Grand Prix, Phichit and Christophe became buddy-buddy.

Not just that- but they garnered their own fanbase. Seung-Gil chucked his phone and startled his dog when an edited picture of them- hearts decorating the edges- popped up on his feed.

 

 

It wasn’t fair that he could just waltz in and be so friendly so easily and-

 

 

 

“Th-The glass!”

 

Seung-Gil looked down and found his hands trembling in tense anger, yet, he couldn’t stop. Better this glass than someone’s face that he breaks.

 

“Seung-Gil, are you listening to me?” A hand reaches out to grasp at his wrist and he finds himself faced with- not green, but grey eyes.

 

“Phichit.” He says, because that’s only thing he musters up.

 

“Hi.” He smiles, saccharine and fully directed at him. He could swoon right now.

 

If anything, Phichit’s hand gripping his wrist is only anchor to the real world- less he slip away to insanity. From the erratic thumping in his chest and his thoughts buzzing with useless jargon, he decides he’s halfway there.

 

 

He looks away- he has to- desperately searching for the blond teen. He finds Yuri standing at the other side of the dance floor, talking to Altin about something very heated- if his red face is anything to go by.

 

Motherfucker.

 

“Um… The glass…” Phichit taps at the inside of his wrist- and oh, there’s been so many times he’s imagined his finger grazing his skin and making lines up his arms and down his chest and

 

He releases the glass and lets Phichit take it from him. “Rough night?”

 

“You could say that.” With rapt attention, he watches the Thai pour him a drink from the array of bottles next to the cupcake set-up.

 

“N-No, none for me anymore. Thanks.” He feels too hot in his own skin to take another dose of alcohol.

You only need three elements to start a fire- that’s oxygen, fuel, and a spark. He supposes his satiny shirt isn’t necessarily flammable, but it’s not flame-retardant either.

 

 

“Oh?” Phichit pouts, his bottom lip pushing out- catching the low light. It glistens beautifully, tiny sparkles glimmering. What brand of lipgloss does Phichit Chulanont use?

 

“Ah, I guess this is for me, then.” He down the glass, only quarter-filled, in one gulp.

 

 

The Thai tosses his head back, and Seung-Gil has to remind himself that he himself had been drinking from that glass too. So now he knows that Phichit isn’t wary about sharing glasses with other people- which to his benefit, is not sanitary nor safe at all.

 

Are Phichit’s lips touching the same area where his lips touched as well? Would it be weird to want the glass back? 

 

 

“Hey!” The Korean gut lurches at the sudden noise. Had he been saying that last part aloud?

 

Phichit’s sunny face does not waver, however, “This is the first time we talked to each other! Right?”

 

“Y...Yes. It is. I’m Se-”

 

The Thai nudges Seung-Gil’s shoulder with his own. “You don’t need to introduce yourself, silly! I’ve been a big fan for a long time.”

 

 

Seung-Gil could cry- he definitely will cry any second now. The big question looming over his head ever since he followed Phichit on all his social media accounts was finally resolved- that is, whether or not he knew about his existence and if he liked his performances.

 

He may put up a cold front, but he wants to please- he wants to know he’s doing a good job.

 

And holy fuck, Phichit just praised him. Phichit is a fan of his. Would he clap if he were in the stands after a performance of his? Would he yell something encouraging? Would he tell Seung-Gil he was a good buy when he

 

 

“So what’s gotten you so upset?”

 

“Mature eros.” Shit. Filters, he reprimands himself, use a filter between your mouth and brain.

 

“Oh, you mean like Chris?”

 

 

Seung-Gil really wishes he had something to hold, because it’s taking every ounce of his strength to resist balling up his fists. “Yes.”

 

Phichit nods solemnly, taking his curt reply in stride. His eyes look over the dessert table similarly to Plisetsky. He stands on his tiptoes and picks out a small cheesecake square from the top display.

 

Shit.

He’s  _ precious _ .

 

“Well your eros is very good too!” He says, lips barely touching the whip cream decoration of his sweet treat. “I mean, I don’t know a lot about eros- but I like yours.”

 

The floodgates burst forth, “But it’s not controlled and feminine like Katsuki’s. Granted, step sequences aren’t my strong suit, but that is no excuse from improving. On the other hand, I do not envibe a similar erotic and sporadic atmosphere as Giacometti, and-”

 

“I didn’t expect you to be this talkative.”

 

 

Seung-Gil blinked.

Right.

Alcohol.

 

“Don’t let me stop you!” Phichit apologizes, biting off a corner of cake- the fondant leaving a glob of white at the corner of his mouth.

 

“I…” Seung-Gil feels his eye twitch. It doesn’t feel right to unload his insecurities like this, especially not to the object of his desires, especially under the effects of alcohol.

In fact, he should excuse himself right now and tell Coach Park that he doesn’t feel well so he can get ready to leave tomorrow.

 

“I don’t feel very sexy.”

 

“You’re plenty sexy!” Phichit licks to catch the fondant and Seung-Gil’s knees buckle.

 

“I’m really not.”

 

Phichit shakes his head, nose scrunched up like he tasted something unsavory. “You’re not feminine or dangerous, but you’re… you’re… hm,” He looks Seung-Gil up and down and he begs that he looks presentable.

“You’re princely. All regal and careful- enticing because you know so much and seen so many cool things. And! And you’re seducing the audience to a fantasy!” He laughs to himself, pleased with his response.

 

 

“I don’t… think I’m very princely.” Seung-Gil runs his tongue along the underside of his teeth. The compliments and praise are making his head dizzy. This is certainly not how he envisioned his first interaction with Phichit would be like. He imagined himself cooler and more composed than this.

 

“Hm? Maybe like a king, then?” Phichit popped the last of the dessert into his mouth and sucked at his fingers. The glossiness of the lips was even more noticeable as it wrapped around his digit. “Not like JJ- that’s, that’s a different kind of king.”

 

In unison, they turn to JJ- who has gathered a group of sponsors around him and was talking loudly about something fantastical of his.

 

“So like old and greying.” Images of King Midas and Arthur surfaced in his thoughts.

 

“No- like, powerful and wise.”

 

“That’s not very sexy.”

 

“Who says that’s not sexy?” Phichit looked taken aback, hip cocked to one side. His suit jacket was taken off and tied at his waist. The cover hid the contours of his waist- and Seung-Gil never hated an article of clothing so much in his life since the itchy turtleneck his grandmother got him for Christmas. “You watch Sherlock? Brainy is the new sexy.”

 

“I only watched season one. But I read all the books-”

 

 

The Thai clapped a hand over his mouth. “We have to watch the rest! Or at least until season 2! Irene Adler is so cool. Come to my room tonight.”

 

Seung-Gil blinked.

 

“If you want to, I mean. You might be busy.” Phichit fluttered his lashes and Seung-Gil became acutely aware of the graceful line that was painted on his lids. “I can always hang out with Chris, if-”

 

“Let’s watch. Right now.”

 

“Eager and determined. Just how I like it.” Phichit laughed softly, eyes crinkling in delight. “I like a man who knows what he wants.”


End file.
